From your mother
sanguine inheritance

father too
supposing

Bloodlines inherited from 

your daddy—the one that 

looked just like the one who looked at you 

from the photo on mother’s bureau

 

The one she’d show you 

neat in its frame

This is your father she’d say, this is

your bloodline

his name

Four bloodlines 

lined up in a row

shared between

sister and brother first, then

brother and sister, after
 

Four bloodlines

diverged

spread across

state lines

borders of countries whose

tongues we don’t speak whose

true titles our mouths 

mispronounce

 

Bloodlines split across 

time zones

dimensions

Life and

death and 

what is gone and 

what has been given

away

 

Home, then

is rolling and road and a limitless
24 inches, 53 feet and 30 paces

five axles free

—free within—

governed speeds
 

Home is

where the truck 

is

dropping platelets like oil slicks 

in neat little rows

Bloodlines like turn signals

indicating direction—

this way

Home

 

Must it promise us anything? 

Does it owe it to us to maintain 

itself as we once

regarded it only to leave

again and

again and

 

A return is 

just a visit

Wasn’t it

always? 

 

As you do not,
home could not either

remain—

 
Home too is governed

by change